Red placed his hands on his knees and leaned over the man. “Well, then, I’ll make you a deal, Smedley. You tell us where your badge is, then we’ll go get it and clear all this mess right up. How’s that sound?”
The man didn’t reply.
Red cupped an ear. “I can’t hear you, Mr. U.S. Marshal, sir. Cat got your tongue?”
“I can’t… tell you where it is. I can’t.”
Red stood up straight again. “That’s what I thought.”
Inga Mueller had always considered herself a tough customer, an independent woman who could handle herself in tight situations. Whenever she heard about a woman being assaulted, she would always visualize how she would respond: with a knee to the groin, a sharp fingernail in the eye, or a good strong bite to any part of his anatomy where she could plant her teeth.
But now she was about to become the victim, and she could feel herself surrendering, mentally withdrawing-as if she could retreat into a quiet place inside herself, away from the horrid violation that was about to take place.
With his free hand, the attacker ripped the front of her T-shirt open and began to paw roughly at her breasts. Inga thrashed and struggled, but it was useless. He was simply too overpowering.
She began to sob, and she hated herself for it.
The man fumbled with her jeans but couldn’t get them unsnapped. Inga knew he would have to use two hands to unclothe her, and when he released her wrists, she might have a chance to fight back. For a moment, Inga clung to that small fragile hope. But then the man produced a knife from one of his pockets-a switchblade-and the sharp steel sprang from the handle. He held it at her throat, pressing firmly. Inga was afraid to even breathe, fearing she would draw her own blood.
“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” the man said. He rolled to a position next to her on the bed and ordered her to remove her jeans. Inga closed her eyes and ignored his command-but then felt the edge of the blade digging deeper into her throat. “Take off your pants! Now!”
Inga did as she was told, her mind spinning, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare. She had an impulse to scream, but was afraid it would only anger her attacker-and nobody would hear her anyway. Likewise, there was nothing nearby that could serve as a weapon. She had no options at all.
She slid her jeans down to her ankles and the attacker yanked them the rest of the way off, holding the knife in place. Then he slid the blade up the outside of her right hip and sliced the waistband of her panties. He did the same thing on her left hip and Inga was now totally vulnerable.
The man forced himself between her legs again and kneeled upright before her, the knife just inches from her torso. “Now, unbutton my fly,” he said.
Inga hesitated and the man growled at her: “Unbutton it!”
With trembling fingers, Inga reached and unsnapped the man’s black pants. The man began to slide his pants down his hips, and Inga closed her eyes again.
“Grab it.”
For a millisecond, Inga thought she had misunderstood him. Had he just said, Grab it? That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid. Sure, he had a knife, but if she had a hand in the right place, there was no telling what kind of damage she could do.
Using her left hand, her weaker one, she reached up and-with the greatest disgust she had ever felt in her life-grabbed his stiffened penis.
“There now, that’s not so bad, is it?” he whispered.
Inga gave it a small stroke, and the man moaned approvingly. “Okay, good. You’re getting into it now. I thought you’d come along.”
Inga glanced at the knife in his left hand. He was holding it a little more loosely now, the tip no longer pointing in her direction.
Gritting her teeth, she gave the man another stroke. He moaned again, and his jaw slackened. She looked through the slits in the ski mask and could see that his eyes were closed.
Inga knew it was now or never, that this would be her only chance. If she didn’t take this opportunity, she would never forgive herself.
She moved both hands quickly. She shot her right hand out and clasped his left wrist as tightly as possible, hoping to keep the knife away from her.
Simultaneously, she slipped her left hand around the man’s testicles-and gave them the hardest, most vicious squeeze she was capable of. Not just a firm squeeze, but a milking Uncle Bill’s most stubborn cow back in Minnesota type of squeeze.
The howl that erupted from the man’s belly was amazing.
The knife dropped to the bed beside her, forgotten. Both of his hands circled her left wrist, trying to get her to release his family jewels. But the more he pulled at her arm, the more she tightened her grasp.
His screams of anguish were earsplitting now, bouncing off the walls of the small hotel room.
Then something happened that left Inga momentarily confused. She heard a tremendous crashing sound, and then felt several small stinging sensations on her face and torso. The attacker collapsed on top of her, then rolled off the bed, wailing in agony, arms wrapped around his head.
At the foot of the bed was Tommy. Staggering, but on his feet. Holding the remains of the ceramic lamp he had just smashed over the attacker’s head. A mask of blood coated his face.
The attacker struggled to his feet, pulling up his pants, and the men squared off in the center of the room. Both were hunkered low, exhausted and in pain, like two bone-weary boxers in the final round.
Tommy threw a looping right hand and missed, and the masked man got him in a headlock. But Tommy drove an elbow into the man’s sternum, and Inga could hear the air whoosh out of his lungs.
Inga grabbed the knife and vaulted off the bed, preparing to drive the knife deep into the man’s back.
That’s when there was a loud pounding at the door.
“You okay in there? I called the cops!” It sounded like Mel, the elderly man from room 1.
Now the attacker moved quickly, shoving Tommy out of the way and yanking the door open. Inga saw Mel standing outside, eyes wide. The would-be rapist sprinted past him into the darkness.
Tommy quickly grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped Inga in it. She blubbered a thank-you over and over, and Tommy whispered quietly in her ear and tried to console her.
“It’s all right now…” Tommy said to Mel, who was standing in the doorway. “Thanks for your help.”
“You sure?” Mel asked, looking suspicious.
Inga nodded. “Thanks, Mel. I’ll be okay.”
Mel shook his head and said, “Came to Texas, thought we’d be getting away from all the crime.” Then he shuffled back to his room.
“Are you okay?” Tommy asked, surveying Inga at arm’s length.
She nodded. “Scared the pee out of me.”
“Any idea who it was?”
“None whatsoever. But the things he said…he knew who I was. It wasn’t random.”
Tommy cocked his head. “Sirens! I have to get out of here.”
“Tommy, you’re kidding me. It’s time to call this off. Let’s get your problems cleared up and get out of town.”
“After this? But then they’d win, Inga. That was obviously someone trying to dissuade us from protesting.”
“And he did a damn good job of it! I’m ready to go home, Tommy.”
The sirens were coming closer.
Tommy leaned in and gave Inga a kiss. “Don’t stay here, Inga. Go with the police. They’ll take care of you. I’ll be in touch when our work is done.”
“But, Tommy….”
He was already out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marlin was up and out of the house by five Saturday morning. It was deer season, after all, and he was determined to get back to his regular routine. He would patrol for several hours, then call Austin to see if Richard Fanick, the lab technician, had anything for him.